


hodie mihi, cras tibi

by remis777



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, because i needed some angst in my life i guess, gallifrey s2? before brax leaves, i love my stupid son, leela's just chillin, narvin and leela meet twelve, narvin is an Idiot and he loves leela but doesn't know it yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25789144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remis777/pseuds/remis777
Summary: When Romana sent Narvin and Leela to run an errand for her in the Biodata Archive, the worst thing Narvin thought he'd have to deal with was Leela being her usual uncooperative and hostile self. This? This was much, much worse.
Relationships: Leela (Doctor Who)/Narvin (Doctor Who)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	hodie mihi, cras tibi

**Author's Note:**

> Title translates as "Today it's me, tomorrow it will be you."

Narvin came to, and immediately regretted it. He was lying painfully on a cold metal floor, and someone was ranting very loudly and insistently about coffee.

‘– and I _really_ don’t understand what yer on about, to be frank, because doesn’t all coffee just _taste_ of coffee? I know you humans like to be _discerning_ and _gourmet_ with your delusions of grandeur, but–’

The voice quieted down, presumably to allow whatever entity with whom it was communicating to get a word in edgewise, and Narvin risked opening his eyes. He regretted doing so as soon as he did, because suddenly his head split open in unbearable agony and he wanted to scream and scream and scream and – oh. He blinked, and his eyes adjusted to the bright lights; through his pounding headache he managed to make out black boots standing a few metres away from him, boots which started to pace as the painfully Scottish voice started up again.

Narvin whimpered.

‘I _know_ that, yes, but in the end isn’t it _just_ coffee? Yer all prancing about saying “oh, this coffee is shite, let’s pop down the road for some _real coffee_ ”, “let’s go have a _proper_ coffee”, but doesn’t it all just taste vaguely like – no, no, no, tea’s different, you _know_ it’s different, the different leaves give _vastly_ different colours, and flavours, and – no, _you_ ’re the one in the wrong here –’

Narvin closed his eyes again, revelling in the blissful darkness (and wishing for a blissful quiet that he feared would never come – how much could a person reasonably argue about caffeinated beverages?) and wondered what he’d gotten himself into this time. He hadn’t been this hungover since the morning after President Romana’s inauguration. That had been a bad night. No, hang on, he wasn’t hungover – he could detect no ginger at all in his bloodstream – so something else was going on…then that something kicked him hard in the ankle. He nearly howled and swore very loudly and violently to Rassilon and his forefathers and all of their despicable acts, but, biting his lip to keep quiet and turning to confront the perpetrator of the assault, he saw Leela holding a finger to her lips and he remembered everything.

***

They were running an errand for the President, retrieving something from the Biodata Archive about Inquisitor Darkel (this rankled a bit, he would admit, as Narvin was most _definitely_ not the President’s personal errand-boy; it seemed, however, that it was the President’s lucky day, because of late Darkel had been _extremely_ annoying. Narvin figured he’d pick his battles). Despite their, ah, _differences_ , Narvin could begrudgingly admit Leela kept watch very well along the way, and somehow heard the Chancellery Guard coming from a long way off, giving them a chance to hide. The phalanx (was it a platoon? Or a parliament? no, that was owls) of Chancellery Guardspersons had luckily passed them by, and the two of them had managed to sneak into the Archive, Leela guarding the door while Narvin examined the shelves for what he was looking for.

He’d asked the President (most deferentially, of course) as to why she couldn’t bloody well have come down herself to get what she wanted, and why all this sneaking about was necessary and he could very well just go down openly and grab it, for Rassilon’s sake, but she’d muttered something about how she had to oversee the Academy and a meeting with Braxiatel and about guards loyal only to Darkel guarding the Archive chamber. Of course.

The plan was simple: sneak their way in, grab the biodata cylinder the President needed, and use a vortex manipulator to teleport out to the other side of the Citadel, minimising their chances of getting caught _in flagrante delicto._ The first part of the plan had worked perfectly, and Leela was standing guard by the door while he went in to get what they had come for. Walking along the shelves, and after a bit of searching (everything was so neatly arranged! Narvin took a moment to appreciate and, to be honest, revel in the beauty of the Time Lords’ precise and meticulous organisation), he managed to find the requisite cylinder. Each cylinder contained, if he recalled correctly, a sample of the person’s biodata, along with other identification information: age, regeneration number, TARDIS registration number, chapter, parents; pulling out the one they needed, he marvelled at how easy their task had been.

‘ _Intruders in the Archive_!’ someone yelled.

Oh no.

An explosion rocked the Archive chamber and threw him to the ground.

‘ _Narvin!!_ ’

Narvin whipped his head up from where he’d been knocked to the floor, a bit dazed but mostly conscious. Blinking to get the dark spots out of his vision, he saw Leela sprinting towards him, dodging blasts of staser fire from a pack (pontification? pride?) of guards who were shooting from the safety of the doorway.

‘Use the…the _thing_!’ Leela shouted, pointing to his wrist as she dove for cover next to the toppled shelf Narvin was cowering behind.

‘I’m _fine_ , thank you so _very_ much for asking,’ Narvin drawled. ‘It’s _called,_ ’ he corrected, fiddling with his vortex manipulator, ‘a vortex manipulator.’

‘Whatever it is called, hurry up and use it!’

‘Well I _can’t_ just do it willy-nilly!’ he responded acrimoniously, entering some numbers into his manipulator. (If Leela had understood the meaning of the word _manipulator_ , she would’ve remarked at the irony of a master manipulator manipulating a manipulator. Luckily, she didn’t, and so, undistracted, she ducked just in time to miss a staser bolt that would have killed her.)

‘You have to program the coordinates, make sure it actually deposits you on a _planet_ – you can say what you want about humans, they do manage to make everything portable, and these new Time Lord-improved models can even transport someone to a TARDIS, given a visual scan of the registration code and high enough clearance, _which_ as the Coordinator of the CIA I so happen to ha– _what in Pandak’s name are you doing_?’

Leela had gripped his thigh rather forcefully, and he had a sudden feeling his face was bright red. Lovely.

‘Do not fret, _Time Lord_ ,’ she said, spitting the species name as if it were the name of some viciously cruel animal. ‘I only need to borrow your weapon for a moment.’

Still for some Rassilonforsaken reason gripping his thigh, she took his staser from his holster with her other hand and jumped up to face the pod ( _prudence_! that was the one) of guards, shooting three bolts – and hearing three screams – before jumping back down and crouching behind the toppled shelf. She handed him back his staser.

‘You redden too easily, Narvin,’ she said, smirking.

Narvin, loath to prove her point, reddened.

‘How long until your…vertical menimpilader is ready?’ she asked, after a moment of infuriating smiling. ‘The guards are approaching!’

‘Almost there,’ he replied, typing furiously on his vertical menimpilader, which emitted a series of doleful beeps. ‘I just need to make this _wretched_ machine figure out where I want to – _no_ , you _stupid_ thing, not the TARDIS registration scanner, I _need_ to enter _planetary_ coordinates – I swear I’ll personally _eviscerate_ whichever _nitwit_ decided to give me this untested model – we just want to do a short hop, _not_ go gallivanting around on an interplanetary voyage, thank you, and _Leela, for Rassilon’s sake!_ ’

Leela, who had again grabbed his thigh, for support this time as she’d quickly ducked to avoid a shot, grinned and squeezed a bit before letting go. Narvin found he was breathing rather shallowly.

He shook his head and tried to focus. One of the guards yelled something that distracted him; he looked up just in time to see the whole prudence retreat to the safety of the doorway, and something small and round finish a graceful parabolic arc and land right in front the shelf protecting him.

‘ _Leela_ ,’ he called urgently. ‘You’d better grab my arm, quickly.’ Leela, for once, thankfully did as she was told.

The object on the other side of the toppled shelf began beeping. Narvin hastened his efforts on his vortex manipulator.

‘ _Yes_ , yes, good, good, now let me enter the galactic coordinates –’ the beeping quickened ‘– yes, right, now the specific Gallifreyan vectors –’ Leela tightened her grip on his arm. The beeping got faster, ‘– and now the temporal coordinates –’ and faster ‘– and finally the path difference… _no, you useless – not the TARDIS scanner again I don’t want that go back –_ ’ the beeping stopped.

And the shelf in front of them exploded.

When the smoke cleared, the shelf they’d been crouched behind had been reduced to ashes, and the three shelves behind them had toppled. Narvin, flat on his back, groped around blindly for a bit until his hand found the cylinder bearing Darkel’s name, and he grabbed it, holding it close to his chest. Coughing violently, he idly noticed through the ringing in his ears and with his cheek pressed to the floor that there were hundreds of cylinders scattered around him from the shelves’ collapse, bearing various names: Draxel, Dondequist, Dotselovandimar, Doctor, Dromendilundar, Doctrantisan, as far as the eye could see, Time Lords and Ladies _ad nauseam_ (to put it in High Gallifreyan terms). He blinked to get the dust out of his eyes and vaguely wondered why his lungs felt like they were being crushed under the weight of several tonnes of warm, soft material that had a very pleasant smell. He blinked again and turned his head to face upward, and nearly broke his nose against Leela’s cheekbone. Ow.

She was unconscious, but still breathing ( _that_ Narvin could certainly feel), draped over him like a cozy quilt, and for a few moments while his brain scrambled to kickstart his urgency and embarrassment circuits, he felt quite peaceful and comfortable. The single beat of her single heart was a calming rhythm, lulling him into serenity. He drew a deep breath in, and smiled, letting his eyes drift shut.

Then his wrist beeped, and the circuits in his head all snapped back on at once. He swore violently and immediately tensed, feeling a hot flush rise up in his face. This did not seem to be a day for dignity.

Leela, thankfully, hadn’t awoken from his outburst, and he elected to let her wake up on her own time – he needed focus to be able to assess their situation, and Leela was the diametrical opposite of focus. He chanced a look around. The blast had propelled them sideways and back, and they had luckily landed behind a broken section of shelf that was large enough to hide them from the doorway. He could hear a faint chatter coming from that direction, and deduced that the Chancellery Guard were debating their next course of action, a course of action he would very much rather _not_ be privy to. They needed to get out of there.

Painfully, and with tremendous effort, he managed to raise his left arm enough to take a look at his wristband, and, blinking a few times, saw that everything seemed to be perfectly in order, and that the vortex manipulator was ready to send them where they wanted to go. Odd. He wasn’t one to look a gift hover-car in the engine, though, so, wedging the Darkel cylinder between his body and Leela’s, he brought his right arm over and around her to meet the left, encircling her and holding her to his chest. He very pointedly ignored any weird stirrings he felt in his hearts and any fluttering he felt in his digestive system, chalking it up to the shock caused by being thrown bodily back several meters by the explosion. He rested his hands on Leela’s back.

His CIA robes were never this warm or comfortable. He had to talk to his tailor about how he could achieve this level of comfort in his everyday attire.

Dimly, through the (quite loud) thrumming of his heartsbeat, he heard the unmistakable sound of a staser cannon charging up, and snapped out of it. He looked over Leela’s shoulder, pointedly ignoring also the way her silky hair brushed his face, and tapped the go-ahead button on the vortex manipulator. The wristband bleeped cheerily, and the screen offered him a green check mark and the words ‘TARDIS registration code scanned! Transportation in 20 microspans!’ The manipulator started counting down.

‘ _NO_ , you _absolute imbecile of a machine!_ ’ Narvin roared, mashing every button on the surface of the thing to cancel the countdown. He looked around wildly, trying to see which biodata cylinder the vortex manipulator had scanned, but to no avail. He tried to sit up and pull the wristband off, figuring he’d rather face a prudence (for Rassilon’s sake, that wasn’t right either, was it) of Chancellery Guard and stay on Gallifrey than get thrown into some other unknown Time Lord’s TARDIS in the middle of empty space, but the fastenings were refusing, helpfully, to unfasten. Leela stirred.

‘Hm…mhm..n.. Narvin?’ She licked her lips and burrowed her head further into the crook of his neck. ‘I was having a very nice dream.’ Narvin flushed furiously. That sensation was something he did _not_ need to think about right now. He bent down and whispered in her ear, the vortex manipulator beeping constantly and forebodingly all the while.

‘Listen, Leela, we’re about to go teleport into some random Time Lord’s TARDIS, and I don’t know who it’s going to be, so we’re going to need to _not_ bicker for a bit, alright? We don’t have much time before –’

The manipulator stopped beeping, and Narvin and Leela ceased to exist on Gallifrey.

***

His ankle was smarting, and he was vehemently regretting opening his eyes. Thankfully, the headache and the nausea were subsiding somewhat, but for a low, reverberating buzzing sound that didn’t seem to be growing fainter. The lights seemed to be whirling around, but he didn’t feel all that dizzy, so either his inner ears were _completely_ destroyed, or the lights were whirling on their own. The coffee voice had gone blissfully silent.

Leela, who was laying about a metre away, motioned to get up, but Narvin met her eyes and shook his head minutely. He needed to get his bearings first. The cylinder bearing Darkel’s information was laying within arm’s reach, so he grabbed it and stuffed it in his deepest robe pocket. He looked around, and took in the metal floor and the six-sided control console, of the same steely material as the rest of the room, which had multiple levels, bookshelves, an armchair, and a chalkboard disseminated throughout it. They were most definitely in a TARDIS, and one in motion: the central column was moving up and down (which explained the buzzing noise), and the system of concentric circles it was attached to on the ceiling was spinning around, which explained all the whirling lights.

It was all very kitschy and unnecessary, Narvin thought. Spectacle over function. Any Time Lord in their right mind would stay with the factory desktop theme; it was objectively the most user-friendly and the most utilitarian. He had half a mind to go back in time and complain to whomever introduced all this customisation and personalisation nonsense in the first place.

He finally looked at the TARDIS’ (he presumed) sole occupant, who was facing away from them, displaying the back of a black velvet coat and a head of curly grey hair, only just beginning to grow out. He had some sort of communicator to his ear, and he was tapping his foot.

‘ _Listen_ , Clara, Clara, Clara, I under _stand_ that you’re defending a beverage you like, I’m not blaming _you_ for it, I just think – of _course_ I’d defend beverages I like, what are you talking about? No, I don’t just _attack_ things, there are things I like consuming – oh yeah? Is that how it is now? Well, fine, I’ll just go get your _coffee_ then, shall I? But I wouldn’t know how to distinguish it from _mud_ because apparently _I_ don’t like drinking _anything_! Do you even – well, fine, then!…Yeah! _Fine_! I’ll _see_ you when I see you!’

With a huff, the Time Lord turned and slammed the communicator into its socket on the other side of the console unit, and began fiddling with a few controls. Narvin and Leela flinched back in unison, not wanting to be discovered, but luckily the man took no notice of them, hidden as they probably were by the bulk of the console. Narvin could catch a glimpse of his face, though, and he wasn’t anyone Narvin recognised on sight: he had a high forehead, a wrinkled face, a strong nose, and a truly terrifying pair of eyebrows whose default setting seemed to be ‘frown’. He was, somewhat predictably, frowning.

Narvin glanced at Leela as she was sizing up the man as well, and he felt reassured that should the other Time Lord be hostile, she could probably take him on, with her strong, shapely legs and her muscular arms and her scarily attractive grip on the knife she was slowly pulling out of its sheath –

Narvin poked her in the side, and, having gained her attention, shook his head.

Leela shook her own head.

Narvin grit his teeth. _Put it back_ , he mouthed.

Leela gestured towards the unknown Time Lord, and started to unsheathe her knife again.

Narvin gripped her arm and shook his head again, vehemently. _Let me handle this_.

She shook off his hand, but thankfully seemed to accept his reasoning and put her knife away.

Narvin inclined his head, and gestured to her, something probably intending to convey the fact that he was trained in negotiation, and that the authority of the CIA would not be doubted by a mere civilian Time Lord, and that he had it all under control –

‘Is this a private sign language conference, or can anyone join?’

Leela and Narvin both jumped up and whirled around, affecting poses of self-defence. Leela’s was much more convincing.

The owner of the TARDIS to which they had been transported was leaning forward on the console, regarding Narvin with a tiny bit of a smirk on his lips. He glanced at Leela, and did a bit of a double-take, staring for a long moment. Leela stared back at him, bewildered. He shook his head and turned his gaze.

‘Coordinator _Narvin_! To what do I owe the pleasure?’

Narvin stammered. ‘Er, ahem – well – I, er…’ he puffed himself up. ‘On the authority of the Celestial Intervention Agency, I order you to take us –’

‘Come _on_ , Narvin, no.’ He didn’t meet Narvin’s eyes.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Get it _right_.’

‘What are you _talking_ about? Who –’

The man looked at him, disappointment etched on his face. ’Don’t try that CIA charade with me, Narvin, you know it won’t work. As much as it _does_ pain me to say, you are better than that.’

Leela, who had up until now stood and watched the conversation bounce back and forth as one would watch a game of tennis (or, god forbid, squash), finally intervened.

‘If you do not help us, _Time Lord_ , I shall tear both of your hearts out and feed them to you with my bare hands!’

The man, impossibly, smiled, but kept looking down, fiddling with the controls. ‘I’m sure you will,’ he said, softly.

Leela seemed rather taken aback. Narvin took a moment to regroup, and opened his mouth again.

‘Sir – whoever you are – I – _we_ – apologise for intruding in your ship in this manner, but our –‘

‘Your vortex manipulator has a mind of its own, and took you here instead of back to Gallifrey?’

‘Er, quite.’

‘What were you doing blowing things up in the Biodata Archive, Coordinator Narvin?’

‘I, I–’ Narvin spluttered. ‘I _beg_ your pardon? How –?’

The other Time Lord straightened, all of a teacher explaining something patently obvious to his dimwitted students. ‘How did I know you’ve come from the Biodata Archive, Narvin? Because your vortex manipulator is very helpfully flashing the phrase “TARDIS registration scan successful”, and the only place with TARDIS registrations in _this_ universe was the Biodata Archive on Gallifrey.’ He pointed at Narvin’s chest. ‘There’s also powder and burn marks on your robes.’

Narvin glanced down at his wrist. Sure enough, the traitorous machine was cheerily displaying those words exactly. He quickly put his hands in the pockets of his robes, scowling. Something struck him as odd – _was_ the Biodata Archive on Gallifrey? Not _is_? Looking back up abruptly, he met the man’s eyes. The other Time Lord tried to turn his gaze away, but it was too late.

Narvin saw flashes of different lives, passing.

 _Himself, younger, more naïve, more foolish. A long scarf. A young boy who’d ceased to exist. A Time Ring. Himself again, promoted, older, not at all wiser. A recipe for risotto. A corrected equation, a despondent cleaner. Ships in the sky, about to attack. An oven that was bigger on the inside than the out, a gun made out of refurbished home appliance, one – no, two – sonic screwdrivers, and a question mark umbrella. A booming voice, a ponderous burr. An Ace up the sleeve._ _Ships crashing and burning in an orange sky. Three men, standing in an empty barn around a big, red button. A Flower of Remembrance on the horizon, getting closer and closer and terrifyingly closer. A terrible Grandfather, a terrible Enemy, a terrible metal menace, a terrible, terrible, terrible choice. So many screams. A horrible loneliness, an agonising hope, happiness and sorrow and bewilderment and nostalgia and regret and –_

The Doctor wrenched himself back from the console and turned away, tears silently falling down his cheeks.

Narvin gaped, then stared. He blinked, then stared some more for good measure. The Doctor took this time to surreptitiously turn away and wipe his eyes. Narvin, having stared and gaped his fill, now regained his speech functions. Barely. He started spluttering again.

‘B- but – but you’re –’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re the –’

‘ _Yes_.’

‘But you –’

‘No.’

‘Erm. Uh. You’ve regenerated.’

‘Half a dozen times since we last met,’ he smiled sadly.

‘ _How_?’

‘Long story.’

‘I saw … _flashes_ , in your head.’ The question remained unspoken.

The Doctor sighed, and seemed to crumple a bit. ‘You don’t want to know.’

Leela, deciding that this had gone on long enough, punched Narvin lightly in the elbow.

‘Ow!’

‘Who – stop being such a baby – who is he?’ she asked him, between his loud protestations.

‘But –,’ Narvin protested, ‘don’t you real-’

The Doctor cleared his throat loudly. Narvin looked at him; he discreetly shook his head. Leela didn’t notice.

Narvin raised an inquisitive eyebrow. The Doctor looked straight into his eyes again, and, in the span of a moment, Narvin understood. _Happiness, regret, hope, fear, the Web of Time, heart and hearts broken enough, abandonment, fire and moving on and death and rebirth and Time –_

He looked away. As much as Leela knowing that this was the Doctor, her old friend, might make things easier, for the Doctor it would just be more complicated and difficult to bear. Narvin decided to play along. It wouldn’t do to antagonise the key to their return home. He cleared his throat.

‘Well, Narvin?’ Leela asked impatiently, ‘Who is he?’

‘This is, er – this is – well, Leela, I’ll tell you exactly who this is – this is –’

The Doctor rolled his eyes. ‘I’m Thrax. Narvin and I went to the Academy together.’ He grinned, turning. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet your _girlfriend_ , Narvin.’

Leela scowled, and rested her hand on the pommel of her knife. Narvin glanced at her and immediately looked away. The Doctor's grin dropped for a moment, and the Doctor looked at them shrewdly, then smiled again like he was having the time of his life. He chuckled, voice deep and low, and the wrinkles seemed to disappear from his face.

‘I _do_ believe you’re _blushing_ , Narvin! How many centuries has it been? However many, your complexion is still the same.’

Narvin blushed even further. The Scottish voice, for a moment, had been eerily similar to the one he remembered from centuries before, and Narvin concluded that he’d been right to regret, all those years ago, ever showing any appreciation for the Doctor’s work. It had, as usual, come to bite him in the backside. He cleared his throat.

‘Yes, _ahem_ , Leela, this is my old, ah, _acquaintance–_ ’

 _‘Friend_ , surely,’ the Doctor interrupted, pouting. Narvin glared at him murderously.

‘This is my old… _friend_ , from the Academy,’ he restarted, gritting his teeth. ‘I haven’t seen him for a long time, not since before I met you, and he’s regenerated.’

‘He has changed his face?’ Leela asked. ‘Like the Doctor, the last time I saw him?’

The Doctor flinched slightly.

‘Yes, quite,’ Narvin said, looking worriedly between the two of them. This was a situation for which the word “precarious” seemed to be an understatement. He wondered whether he wouldn’t have been better off facing that procession (patience? _dammit_ ) of Guardsmen right now. When Romana’d sent him and Leela to run an errand for her in the Biodata Archive, the worst thing Narvin thought he'd have to deal with was Leela being her usual uncooperative and hostile self. This? This was much, much worse.

‘And he can take us back?’ Leela asked, breaking him out of his mental lamentations. This reminded Narvin of their predicament.

‘Yes, er, _Thrax_ , could you?’ he asked as well.

The Doctor opened and closed his mouth a few times, then frowned, then fiddled with the controls a bit.

‘Well. Erm. Well, you see – I, er, can’t,’ he said quietly.

Narvin frowned. ‘What do you mean you can’t?’

The Doctor looked at him concernedly. ’It means I cannot.’

‘I _gathered_ ,’ Narvin said acrimoniously. ‘But of course you can; you’ve got a fully-functioning TARDIS, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, well, I wouldn’t know about _fully_ -functioning –’ the TARDIS darkened and chimed threateningly. The Doctor looked up. ‘Oh, yes, sorry, dear – yes, I do have a, er, _fully-functioning_ TARDIS, as you say,’ he said, glaring slightly at the central column, ‘but the fact remains that _I_ can’t take you where you need to go.’

Narvin’s frown deepened. ‘Are you being deliberately, obtuse, man? If it’s a question of favours or payment, I can assure you that the CIA won’t be recording your activities –‘

The Doctor tutted. ’You _know_ it isn’t that –’

‘– and you won’t be arrested as soon as you land, I can guarantee that, and you’ll be able to see the President too, and, er, _catch up_ , or whatever it is you do –’

‘– it’s not a question of favours, Narvin, I’m not trying to be difficult here, but you must understand –’

‘– I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you, the amount of times she brings you up in conversation –’

‘I _can’t_ , _Narvin!_ ’ the Doctor roared, slamming his hands down onto the console. Narvin flinched back. The Doctor glared at him, gripping the sides of the console, and said through gritted teeth, ‘I _cannot_ , I am _unable_ to, it is outside of my power, it is _not within my realm of influence to do so_! What language do you need me to say it in? Is it Old High Gallifreyan? Rigelite? Andromedan? Farsi? Binary? _I can not_.’ He slumped forward and sighed, closing his eyes.

Narvin scowled. He leaned forward, with every intent to verbally eviscerate the pathetic excuse for a Time Lord in front of him, but it seemed that Leela had had enough. Unbeknownst to Narvin, throughout the Doctor’s outburst, she’d grown steadily more and more furious at the unknown Time Lord’s unwarranted belittling of her (albeit reluctant) companion. (Only _she_ was allowed to belittle Narvin, thank you very much). Drawing her knife out of its sheath at last, she roared and leapt at the Time Lord who was despairingly admiring his TARDIS’ controls.

As Narvin watched her attack in what seemed like slow motion, a part of him was screaming to _stop her, don’t let her do that, that’ll ruin everything_ ; however, a bigger part of him just found itself admiring the feline grace of Leela’s leap, the sharp lines and curves of her body as she launched herself across the floor, knife in hand, slightly terrifyingly beautiful. For once, he was lucky her ire was not aimed at him. The poor Doctor didn’t stand a chance.

Leela growled, ‘That is enough, Time Lord, _you shall take us back_!’ as she leapt and brought her knife down to rest against his neck, and –

The Doctor, his temper at an end, grabbed her hand in midair and twisted it, bellowing, ‘For God’s _sake_ , savage, _put that away!_ ’

The knife clattered to the ground. The Doctor’s eyes fell shut, and his face was so, so very old. Leela looked up at him, no fight left in her, not daring to hope but hoping nonetheless.

‘ _Doctor_?’

Half an hour later, the Doctor was sitting in the TARDIS kitchen, a packet of frozen peas against his cheek, where a bright bruise was beginning to form. He glared at Leela. Across the diner-style table they were sitting at, she sipped her tea daintily. Narvin was rummaging in the cupboards for some sugar, though he kept an eye on the conversation. He didn’t want things to escalate again.

‘There was really no need for such violence, you know,’ the Doctor said mildly. ‘I would have apologised.’

‘I do not know what you are talking about, Doctor.’

‘You hugged me, and then you punched me in the face.’

‘It is an ancient Sevateem greeting when reunited with old _friends_.’

The Doctor spluttered. ‘That’s – that’s _not_ true!’

‘It is!’

‘It's _not_!’

‘Come on, children,’ Narvin interjected beleagueredly. ‘Behave.’ They both glared at him, and he sighed and turned back into the cupboard to find some blasted sugar for his stupidly bitter human beverage.

‘Well, I say it is,’ Leela said, turning back to the Doctor. ‘How would you know, anyway? _Why_ would you want to know, even, since you so readily hid yourself from me?’

The Doctor sighed heavily and put his face in his hands. ‘I thought it was for the best,’ he said wearily, his voice muffled. ‘I _thought_ if I could reverse whatever process brought you two here in the first place we could avoid all of –’ he gestured between them ‘– this.’

‘And what is –’ Leela imitated his gesture mockingly, ‘ _this_?’

‘This whole _explanation_! I didn’t want to have to burden you with everything that’s happened in the past who knows how many years, not have to worry about timelines and Gallifrey and _spoilers_ ,’ he replied, pushing the last word out as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. He took a breath and sat up, picking up the packet of peas he’d put down for his bout of melodrama and reapplying it on his face.

‘What’s taking you so long, Narvin?’ he called after a moment. ‘What are you looking for, a full meal? Because you know I have a _great_ risotto recipe I think you’ll love –‘

‘That’s _quite_ enough, thank you,’ Narvin interrupted, having finally found the sugar in a jar labeled “orange marmalade”. He came and sat at the table, next to Leela, mumbling curses at the Doctor under his breath. He took a sip from his now-sugared tea, and grimaced. ‘It’s gone cold.’

The Doctor smirked. ‘You can use your… _sonic screwdriver_ for that, can’t you? I know there’s a tea-warming setting on it.’

Narvin glared across the table murderously, but nonetheless took out a small metallic cylinder from his pocket and beeped it over his tea for a few moments until it started steaming.

Leela, who had been softened somewhat by the Doctor’s dramatic outburst, studied the lines etched so deeply onto his face. ‘How long _has_ it been since you saw me last, Doctor?’ she asked quietly.

‘Three hundred and fifty years,’ he answered, quickly. Too quickly. Leela narrowed her eyes.

‘Do not lie to me, Doctor. I will not hesitate to use “more violence”.’

The Doctor glared at her, miffed. Then he seemed to slump all at once, and, in a small voice, said, ‘I don’t know.’

Leela raised her eyebrows, concerned. ‘You do not know how long it has been for you?’

He smiled sadly. ‘Sometimes I don’t want to know.’ He tapped his fingers on the table a few times, drained his own cup, and then stood up, suddenly energetic. ‘Well, I may not be able to take you back to Gallifrey in this TARDIS– I wasn’t lying about that, by the way, let’s just call it, ah, _timelines_ , and I’m sure you of all people will understand, Narvin – but I can certainly try to make your vortex manipulator do it. Take your time and finish your tea, and then we can all go back to the console room and I’ll get my tools –’

A bright flash shot through the room, and a sizzling sound, and suddenly there was a man standing among them who had not been there before.

‘Well, then! Coordinator, Leela,’ said Irving Braxiatel, ‘what _have_ you gotten yourselves into now?’

The Doctor’s eyes were out on stalks. His eyebrows, so foreboding usually, could not seem to decide whether to raise or to frown, and his mouth was slightly open. The mug he had been holding was frozen halfway to the table, the rim at a dangerous angle, the tea threatening to spill out. Braxiatel ignored him and turned to Narvin.

‘Enjoying ourselves, are we, Narvin?’

Narvin suddenly felt his headache coming back.

‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Braxiatel.’

‘You’ve been gone _hours_ , and Romana is worried sick! For Leela, of course, and the cylinder you were supposed to retrieve.’

‘Well, isn’t that charming,’ Narvin said.

‘She did also admit that it would be, ah, quite, quite _regrettable_ to lose such a fine and upstanding member of the Celestial Intervention Agency such as yourself.’

‘ _Did_ she now? How lovely of her. That’s tantamount to a declaration of _love,_ you know! When are we getting married?’

Braxiatel sighed. ‘Don’t be facetious, Narvin, you know she _is_ worried about you. _Both_ of you,’ he added, sparing a glance towards Leela.

‘Well, I’m sorry, but we were rather busy being shot to the other side of the cosmos by the _nigh-unusable_ vortex manipulator I was given.’

‘Ah. Yes. That.’ Braxiatel grimaced. ‘It’s lucky we thought to put a tracer on it, which is how I was able to find you.’

‘You put a _what?_ ’ Narvin asked, violently. ‘On –? Wh– _You_ – I – for _Rassilon_ ’s _sake_ –’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. Braxiatel looked slightly pained.

‘And the, er, trackers on yours and Leela’s clothing.’ Leela’s eyes widened and she started running her hands over her body in search of a tracking device.

Narvin decided he had just about had enough of this. He sat back down heavily and stared off into space, muttering under his breath about presidents and idiots and incompetents and sibling similarities.

Braxiatel turned to the Doctor, who was still slightly frozen, and introduced himself, voice oozing with charm and dripping with obsequiousness. His moustache seemed to twirl itself.

‘My _dear_ sir, I am Irving Braxiatel! It is _absolutely_ the _greatest_ honour to meet a fine Time Lord such as yourself with such a finely kept TARDIS! What might I address you as?’ He even _bowed_ , the arrogant bastard.

The Doctor cleared his throat. Several times. ‘I know who you are,’ he said weakly. The mug was shaking slightly in his hand.

Braxiatel looked slightly nonplussed. ‘I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mister…?’

‘Doctor,’ the Doctor said, and looked him straight in the eye.

Braxiatel paled considerably, and seemed to stumble backwards. The Doctor’s face was pained. Braxiatel took a shaky breath, and gulped. ‘I see,’ he whispered.

They stared across at each other for a moment that seemed to stretch for an eternity.

The Doctor broke it. ‘Never trust a hug,’ he said, and ran forward, nearly bowling over Braxiatel with the force of his embrace.

Braxiatel stood firm, and put his arms around the Doctor, gently. He kept his chin up, though his pallor had not subsided and his face seemed haunted. Narvin and Leela looked at each other, then looked away.

The Doctor said something, muffled, that sounded very much like ‘I’m sorry.’

After a long moment, they both cleared their throat and stepped apart, turning to face Narvin and Leela. Braxiatel blinked rapidly a few times.

‘Well, then, Narvin, Leela, shall we return?’

They both looked at the Doctor, who smiled. It was more of a grimace than a smile. He nodded.

They all made their way to the console room in silence, which seemed to have taken on a much more somber glow. Braxiatel glanced around approvingly, and, having calibrated his own vortex manipulator, stepped back. Leela went forth and hugged the Doctor, tightly. ‘Take care of yourself,’ she whispered. She stepped back and closed his velvet coat, swiping some invisible dust off the lapels.

‘Oh, you know me,’ he grinned sadly. ‘I’ve always been terrible at that.’ He wiped a tear from her face.

When Narvin came forth and merely nodded, the Doctor’s grin took on a slightly more genuine tone.

‘You’ll see me soon, Narvin, don’t you worry about that. Give my regards to Romana, won’t you?’ Narvin grimaced good-naturedly, and the Doctor patted him on the back.

Finally, Braxiatel, his vortex manipulator primed, went forward once more, and rested his hand on the Doctor’s shoulder. They both smiled, though the smiles had a slightly tremulous quality.

‘Don’t be alone,’ Braxiatel said. ‘For me.’

The Doctor shook his head vehemently, and stepped back, head bowed. Narvin and Leela gripped Braxiatel’s arm, and the vortex manipulator started counting down.

‘Goodbye, my friends,’ the Doctor whispered, and disappeared.

***

Narvin and Leela sat together, watching one of Gallifrey’s suns set from a hallway in the Capitol. The cylinder was long gone, delivered into the President’s care, and Braxiatel had hurried off, perturbed, muttering something about the Daleks and about some Enemy. Leela and Narvin had silently walked together to a deserted bit of corridor, and had been sitting watching the world outside bustle for the past half an hour. When the sun’s bulk disappeared behind the horizon, Narvin turned to Leela. The fainter light of the second sun shone a single, solitary ray through the window, illuminating her face with a warm reddish light.

‘What do you think’s happened, that he was so desperate to hide from us?’ he asked. The thought had been plaguing him ever since he’d first realised that the Doctor was indeed the Doctor. Such terrible things he’d seen.

Leela looked at him, and smiled gently, with no trace of scorn or derision on her face. She took his hand.

‘I do not know, Narvin,’ she sighed. ‘But we shall face it together.’

And Narvin, his deep blush camouflaged by the fading light, gripped her hand tightly, and found himself thinking, entirely despite himself, _y_ _es we shall_.

**Author's Note:**

> and they lived happily ever after and the time war never happened *sobs*


End file.
